May All Be Merry & Bright Again
by sliceofperfection
Summary: The holiday season starts off on a less than joyous note for Cora & Robert as an urgent call from Harold abruptly sends them to Newport. Away from the grand traditions at Downton and their family, they must find a way to hold onto the spirit of the holiday in spite of the dire circumstances they face abroad. Part of the Cobert Holiday Fic Exchange.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hi all! This is my contribution to the Cobert Holiday Fic Exchange! As always, I shall be dishing out multi-chaptered angst because it seems to be all I know. But, don't worry, I am planning on a happy ending at some point that will also feature some holiday cheer. A huge THANK YOU to anyone who has listened to my crazy ramblings about this piece. You're all awesome & I love ya! Anyway, I've uploaded the photo prompt as the photo for this story (it appears, just much later in the fic), and my word was "reveal," which happens a lot in many ways throughout the course of this thing. **__**I intended to have this finished before publishing the first part but, that never happens, and it didn't happen here either haha. So here we go!**_

* * *

The house was already stirring with activity whenever she woke for the day. She heard footsteps and murmurings from below the gallery, however, Cora's eyes still blinked back sleep as she tried to fight back a large yawn that consumed her. It was rather unbecoming for a lady to make such a display, but she doubted very much anyone would be around these parts to notice. Or at least, they shouldn't be.

Her hand rustled against something coarse as she touched the banister, and her hand jerked back suddenly from the unexpected contact. She glanced down and saw that someone had already roped strings of garland around the entire railing. She then noticed the star shaped flowers of red and white strategically placed among the greenery.

Fingers stretching towards a white flower that rested nearby, Cora rubbed the soft petal in between her thumb and forefinger. It was alive beneath her touch. As was the garland that welcomed her awake with its piney scent she inhaled.

Her fingers traveled along the arrangement of flowers interspersed with pine needles, and she then discovered a tiny gold bow at the base of the flower, securing it nicely in place.

 _Practical yet elegant,_ she thought. She would have to give her compliments to housemaids who carried out her vision for the holiday decorations.

Releasing her hold on the flower, Cora then heard the shuffling of feet accompanied by the low booming voice of orders coming from below.

Curiosity outweighing any sense of propriety that might have been expected of her, she peeked over the bannister and watched as Andy, Molesley, and a few of the hall boys settled a gigantic tree into place in the main room downstairs. Their efforts were supervised and scrutinized by Carson, who made them aware of each pine needle that found its way to the carpet, and ensured one of them quickly swept it away.

She smiled at the familiarity of it all. Carson always hated the giant spruces that Robert and her had insisted upon. The pine needles sprinkling the carpet made for a maddening cleanup for the staff. And keeping the dogs away from the water had always been a task.

However, she watched Molesley eagerly sweep the debris away while Andy gently shooed Tiaa out of the room, and the rest of the boys wrapped the base of the tree with the usual red and green coverings. She supposed now they didn't mind the additional duties that came with the tree, what with there not being very many left to do these days.

Deciding that Carson had it all handled, she began her descent. As she rounded the corner on the first landing, Cora's eyes flickered up, catching a few of the younger maids continuing to tightly wind garland around the banister of the main stairs, their deft fingers expertly weaving red and white star shaped flowers through the open spaces and tying golden bows around them in a matter of seconds.

Continuing towards them, she merely smiled, waiting for them to pause in their efforts and step aside once she passed them on the stairs. Each girl bowed their heads and nervously mumbling some variation of, "Good Morning Milady."

She kept her smile and inclined her head in quiet response as she descended to the final landing. Turning on the spot, she allowed her eyes to lift upward, admiring their work from this angle. "It looks splendid, girls," She complimented with a wistful breath before nodding at both of them. "Keep it up."

Turning round again, she heard their faint responses of, "Thank you, Milady," and "We'll be sure to, Milady," fill the silent breaks that took place in between Carson barking orders in low tones and the hall boys scurrying about to comply.

They hurried out of sight just as she met Carson's eye. And she took several seconds to study the tree before looking back at him and offering lightly, "It's looking grand, Carson."

"Thank you, your Ladyship," He nodded appreciatively, his hands folding together behind his back. "We're not quite finished with it yet, but we hope to be soon."

"I have no doubts you'll ready it soon. Else Master George and Mistress' Sybbie and Marigold won't let you rest until they can help decorate it," She returned teasingly, to which he merely smiled.

Nodding in return, Cora continued on her way to the dining room where the faint scent of eggs and potatoes wafted through the open door. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation of the meal. But then she found herself tensing a bit from the loud conversation that drifted to her ears.

"A pony? Don't we already have one?" Robert balked suddenly.

His astonishment prompted her to smirk as she strode into the dining room. Surveying the table briefly, Cora caught Edith glancing down at her breakfast, her eyes widening out of disagreement. Clearly, there was something brewing aside from the tea this morning.

"We have two," She heard Tom chime in from the other side of the table.

"Two?" Robert echoed in disbelief, "When on Earth did this happen?"

There was a brief pause while Cora spooned some eggs on her plate. When she slowly turned to face them, she saw Edith and Tom exchanging looks with one another, their mouths opening and closing as they searched for an answer that might assuage Robert's shock.

Letting out a breath, Cora explained as calmly as she possibly could on her way to the other end of the table, "Oh for heaven's sake, Mary wanted George to start learning to ride, so I told her to fit him with the proper equipment."

She set down her plate, and smiled sweetly up at him while gracefully draping her napkin across her lap.

"When did this happen?" Robert frowned, his brow pinching together out of confusion.

"Oh..." She trailed off, scrunching her face as if she was trying remember herself before settling her gaze back on Robert, "...a little before his birthday, I'd say."

"Why didn't I know about this?" He seemed rather perplexed by this whole thing, and she wasn't terribly surprised.

He had been convalescing when the decision was made. No one wanted to bother him with the knowledge of just how expensive another pony could be, so they remained mum on the subject. She hadn't thought it would pose a problem. Apparently, she misjudged the situation.

Nobody answered his question directly. They only exchanged knowing looks among the three of them. But it didn't matter. Robert was already huffing again about the subject.

"So...we already have two ponies that neither of the children make much use of. And we're talking about getting a third?"

"Well," Cora intoned, spreading some jam across her toast, her mouth twitching out of slight amusement as she reminded him, "there _are_ three children."

"But do they really need to have their own?" He insisted, casting a look at Edith, "Can't Marigold just share-"

"We each had our own, didn't we Papa?" Edith interrupted swiftly, arching a questioning brow.

"You most certainly not!" He shook his head before returning to his newspaper, folding it open on the other side of his plate.

Cora's brow furrowed in his direction as she took a sip of tea.

"Mama?" Edith questioned, noticing her mother's look of disbelief.

Robert's head snapped up, his eyes fixing on his wife, "Cora?"

Setting down her cup, she exhaled softly, accepting her role as the mediator in this debate.

"Well, we would have. If you had expressed interest in one, Edith. But if you remember dear," She went on calmly, shifting her focus to Robert's baffled expression, "we did allow Mary and Sybil to have their own. Whenever they asked."

"Yes, but Mary was much older than Sybil," He reasoned, tilting his head off to one side. "Sybbie, George, and Marigold-"

"Oh for pity sake Robert," Cora scoffed, growing tired of his lame argument, "what's the harm in Edith wanting to give her daughter what she wants for Christmas?"

"Well where will we put it?" He countered, his eyes widening. Gesturing with his hands, he tried, "The stables are cramped as it is..."

Cora rolled her eyes at this and chuckled lightly, prompting his words to die away. "I'm sure we will manage just fine." She turned her gaze to Edith, "Go on with searching for a pony, darling. There's no need for Marigold to suffer because Donk's decided to be a Scrooge this year."

She took a bite of her toast, her lips curving into a crooked grin.

"I am not being a Scrooge!" He countered a bit indignantly, his eyes widening.

There were a light murmur of laughter that sounded in response to Robert's defensive remark.

Realizing he was fighting a losing battle with the three of them sniggering behind tightly pursed smiles, he looked back down at his paper, explaining with a heavy sigh, "I am just being practical. There are a lot of expenses that come with a pony."

"There's a lot of expenses that come with Christmas," Tom remarked neutrally, scooping more eggs into his mouth.

"Yes, Papa," Edith set her cutlery down, smiling gratefully at Tom. "How much did that spruce cost you this year?" She wondered lightly, trying to disguise the glee that crept its way into her voice. Fusing her lips tightly together she added slowly, "And we'll only get use out of it until when? The start of the New Year? Surely a pony will last far longer."

Robert glanced further down the table, hearing her words, but making no comment. Eventually his eyes worked their way up to discover Cora's. She saw the defeat slowly creeping across his face, much to his own chagrin.

She smiled meekly and shrugged, "It does seem a more practical investment."

He made a low grunting noise and shook his head, "Alright, fine. Since you're all against me on this one, I suppose I have no choice but to allow it."

"Mary and I can work it all out," Tom assured, showing some effort to maintain solidarity, "if it's the money you're worried about."

"I'm sure," He muttered tersely, taking a sip of tea.

Cora cocked her head to one side, her mouth gaping in astonishment. What had him so grumpy this morning? It was unlike him not to dote upon the children. She supposed there must be a reason behind this sudden shift in his demeanor. She'd make a point to ask him later.

Edith chimed in sweetly, "Marigold will be so pleased, Papa."

"Well..." He managed a slight smile, clearly making an effort to swallow his pride, "...as long as she's happy I'm happy." Reaching for Edith's hand, he patted it gingerly.

He then returned to his newspaper, and Cora was looking to Tom and asking, "What does Sybbie want for Christmas this year?"

"Aside from her own aeroplane," He mused with a ripple of laughter, "I don't rightly know."

"Well I don't know how we can manage to convince Robert to get her an aeroplane," Cora teased. Tilting her head to one side, she added with a wink, "We already a devil of a time with the pony."

He immediately shot back, "Oh don't pretend _you_ would approve of an aeroplane!"

She laughed a bit at this, forcing a wry half grin out of him, before she directed a suggestion at Tom, "How about a new coat? We're already getting one for George. Perhaps, we should do the same for Sybbie and for Marigold as well?" She glanced between Edith and Tom, awaiting an answer from them both.

"Fine idea, Mama."

"Yes, and very practical as well," Robert intoned smartly, not lifting his gaze from his newspaper.

Cora, Edith, and Tom all exchanged looks of various degrees of amusement with one another. But before anyone could comment, Carson was bustling into the dining room, prompting Cora and Edith to look up at him.

"Carson?" Cora wondered, feeling a flutter inside herself at the overly excited expression he wore.

"I beg your pardon, my Lady, my Lord," Carson nodded at both of them curtly before explaining, "Mr. Levinson is on the phone in the hall. He says it is urgent that he speak to Lady Grantham."

Cora felt the bit of toast in her mouth go dry, and she swallowed hard to force it down. Her stomach tightened as she briefly assessed Carson's tone and the words he selected to make his announcement.

She hadn't heard from Harold in months and now he was calling her, of all ways to get in touch with her. Her insides felt jumbled just thinking of whatever the news he deemed _urgent_ enough to make a transatlantic phone call might be. No doubt they had differing opinions of what _urgent news_ entailed.

"Golly that must be costing him a fortune!" Robert exclaimed, shooting his wife a curious look from the opposite end of the table.

"Don't worry," She managed a smile, in spite of how the news made her feel. "I'm sure this won't take long," She wiped the corners of her mouth with her serviette, hoping her words were true.

She really didn't have the time or the patience to hear about Harold's latest scheme gone wrong, and try to draw up a plan to save him. She had quite a lot to do here in preparation for the holidays here at Downton.

Rose and Atticus were arriving tomorrow. Dickie Merton was coming next week as were dozens of other guests who looked forward to the annual Crawley Christmas fete. There was still items to finalize for that. And then there was the hospital charity ball. A last minute fundraising effort she had agreed to oversee. Not to mention, the last minute gifts she hadn't purchased, wrapped, and marked for the family.

Yes, Harold's call and whatever tidings it might promise came at a most inconvenient time for her. And as far as she was concerned, Robert and her had done more than enough over the years to help her hopeless brother. It was high time he learned to take ownership of his dubious actions once and for all.

When she found herself in the main hall, Cora glanced over her shoulder to ensure she was alone. Staring down at the receiver, she took in a long breath, mustering up whatever sliver of patience remained and picked up the phone.

"Hello? Harold?" Her questioning tone sounded a bit silly, but Harold didn't seem to notice.

In fact, Harold sounded as though he had been holding his breath for several minutes. The relief that flooded his words, surprised her a bit.

"Cora? Oh thank god. I wasn't sure if this would work."

"It works, but it must be costing you a small fortune," She told him flatly.

"I'll handle the bill later," He waved off her concern indifferently.

 _Just like he did with everything else_ , she thought to herself.

"Besides, I didn't think there was another way for me to tell you."

His tone sounded grave. She frowned and felt her brow crease together, "Tell me what, Harold?"

"It's..." He started and then stopped, "Cora it's...it's Mother."

Her eyes widened a bit at his shift in tone and in subject matter. Suddenly, her irritation faded away and was replaced with concern, "Mother? Has...has something happened?"

"Yes," He drew the word out slowly, as if buying himself some more time. But then she realized whenever he stammered out the last part of this statement, it was much more than that. He was trying to disguise the tremor in his voice. "I-I'm afraid...I'm afraid so."

"Oh heavens," Cora breathed, feeling hot as her heart pumped faster from the anticipation of the dire news he had to tell. "I'm afraid you better tell me quickly," She swallowed, already mentally preparing herself for the worst possible thing he could say.

"She's...Cora...Mother...she's..."

"Harold, please," She urged impatiently. "Just say it," She clenched her jaw in preparation, her hand tightening around the receiver. When the silence stretched on for several seconds longer, she knew what the words were, but she was afraid to hear what they would sound like. She whispered hoarsely, "You have to say it. Else I won't believe it's true."

"She's dead," He blurted out suddenly.

For a moment, everything stopped. Her heart, her breathing, the somersaulting sensation of her stomach.

Her mother was dead. And with that knowledge, Cora felt a numbing wave crash over her. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around the idea. It felt so distant, so far away and untouchable. Just as the feelings that should have filled her were. Just as Harold was. And Mother too.

She should have felt broken. She should have felt sad. But she supposed it was the shock that wouldn't allow room for either emotion. She supposed this was why her next words were, "Have you started the funeral arrangements?" And not something more comforting.

"I uh, I haven't decided yet," Harold admitted quietly. "I was hoping-"

"You were just hoping that I would handle them?" She retorted back swiftly, feeling that scratch of irritability creeping through her.

"Well no..." He conceded hesitantly, "...not _entirely_ but..."

"Have you met with the estate lawyers?" She wondered, feeling her heart beat faster as thoughts of what needed to be done started swirling through her head.

"They're coming this afternoon," He informed her flatly, his voice losing its softness that she picked up on earlier.

She felt a stab of guilt inside her chest at this, and decided he deserved some recognition for at least thinking that far ahead, "Well that's good. See if there's anything in Mother's will that states-"

"That was the plan, sis," He remarked abruptly, setting her nerves on edge again.

"And Aunt Clara?" She heard her tone lifting to shrill octaves as she continued to drill him with her insistent questions. "Have you called her yet?"

He exhaled heavily, "Uh, no. No I haven't."

"Well...you ought to," She informed him.

"I will," He responded tersely.

"And the papers, have you had anything drawn up?"

"No," He drew the word out slowly as if to keep his composure as well.

But this just wouldn't do. Did he expect her to come up with all the arrangements? Did he really think she possibly could? She was halfway around the world for goodness sake. And he, he was there. He had always been there. Always physically present, but never there to lend a hand. And she needed him to do something. She needed him to grow up, and take some semblance of adult responsibility.

"Harold!" Her face contorted, her words spewing out in exasperated tones, "You have to do something! People need to know so they can plan..."

"For God's sake Cora, she just died last night!" He snapped, prompting a stunned silence to descend upon them.

After a few moment's of quiet, she heard him intone shakily, "Can't I have a single moment to..."

His voice cut out, and she realized, perhaps all of this was harder on him than he was willing to admit. Perhaps his lack of thought regarding the funeral plans had less to do with his desire to unburden himself and lay the load on her, and more to do with his inability to cope with the loss. Another pang of guilt shot through her, and she fused her lips tightly together.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." She winced, letting out another heavy breath, "I'm sorry, Harold."

He seemed to accept her apology with his tentative observation, "I know you and her weren't...as close as we were but..."

"I know," She replied softly, lowering her gaze to the table in the hall. "And I'm sorry. I just...it's going to take me some time to get there and I-I want to make sure I...know what's happening."

"How long do you think? Until you can get here?"

Cora heard the stress in his questions, and felt her insides tighten. "Uhm...I-I don't know. Four...maybe five days?" She cringed at this realization, hoping he could manage until then. "It will depend on how fast the ship is," She explained evenly.

"Hmmm..." He thought for a few seconds and then decided, "...ok well...I'm meeting with the lawyers this afternoon. I'll uh, do everything I can in the meantime." He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than he was her.

She opened her mouth, trying to come up with a reassuring response, but Harold continued on in a rather dejected tone of voice, "I'm just...I'm not really very good at...this sort of thing. Not like you."

Cora smiled before trying to add comfortingly, "I don't think anyone is really good at planning a funeral, Harold. And no one expects you to be."

"Not even you?" He quipped lightly, and for a split second he sounded like his old self, and her heart felt lighter because of it.

She chuckled softly, "No, not even me."

Harold broke another brief moment of silence, and stammered, "Well...I will...I'll do my best until you can get here, sis."

"Thank you," She replied, trying to sound appreciative. "Well I...I suppose should go," She sighed, "I have travel arrangements to make and you have things to do as well."

"Yeah," He agreed. "Uh, you'll ring with a date?"

"Of course. And if...if there's anything...anything you need until then...please just ring us again and let me know? Or let someone else know, and they can..."

"Will do," He resounded appreciatively. "Oh and uh, sis?" He wondered suddenly, hoping to catch her before she set down the phone.

Hanging onto his final words, Cora returned, "Yes Harold?"

"I love ya," He admitted.

She felt the corners of her eyes prickle at the unexpectedness of this sentiment. Smiling to herself, she replied gratefully, "I love you too. Take care now."

Cora hung up the phone, and let out a slow breath as she set it back on the table.

Her hands pressed into the smooth wood, and she shut her eyes, trying to process everything. The news, the travel arrangements that needed to be booked, and all the work she was to leave behind at Downton and at the hospital. It was utterly overwhelming to think about.

And yet she thought about it all anyway.

She wondered if Harold knew what to write in their mother's obituary. What details to give the newspapers, the ones that friends and the few family they had left would read and reflect on. She thought of him trying to pick out the coffin, what flowers to get, when and where the viewings should take place, the music for the funeral ceremony, the passages from scripture, the luncheon to follow, and she could hear the blood pounding in her ears.

He was right in saying, he wasn't as good as planning such things as her. But he was wrong to assume she expected perfection from him. She knew he would try, and that's all she could ask for. She would have to figure out a way to sort out the rest of what Harold couldn't do later.

But now she had arrangements to make. She'd ask the girls to stay behind and look after their guests. Mary would play perfect hostess to the holiday party. Isobel and Violet could battle for control over the hospital charity event. Edith could manage their gifts for the children. and Tom would be more than willing to help in anyway.

Those weren't the things she was worried about. Those matters would be sorted out rather neatly. Everyone else's Christmas would remain intact, and she took some comfort in knowing that much.

Cora didn't know how much time had passed between her hanging up the phone with Harold and her realizing that she was no longer alone. She jumped, slightly startled out of her own mind by Tiaa's high pitched whining.

The Labrador puppy sat dutifully at her feet, staring up at Cora rather curiously. Her brow arched high across her forehead, and her usually warm brown eyes filled with a sort of knowing melancholy. It was a look that pierced straight through Cora's heart.

She slowly bent down, and scratched the dog between her ears. Tiaa immediately responded by setting her head atop Cora's knee, exhaling deeply before letting out a tiny whimper.

Cora felt her eyes prickle, and she fought back the urge to burst into tears from the dog's behavior. Lightly scratching her head a few times, Cora then leaned forward and pressed several kisses across the top of Tiaa's head, drawing comfort from the dog's presence.

After a few moments of being petted and doted upon, Tiaa bounded away towards the dining room and continued prancing out into the hallway as Robert appeared.

"Oh my darling, hello!" He greeted his beloved dog with such joyous enthusiasm. He didn't even think before he squatted on the floor beside her, running his hands up and down her back while he crooned, "Did my sweet girl sleep well? Did she? Oh, who is a good, pretty girl? Who is? That's right, that's you, oh yes, my girl, oh yes..." She jumped up and began giving kisses anywhere she could on his face and neck.

Cora watched the exchange, feeling a sort of heaviness inside her heart. She hated to spoil his momentary happiness with the news. But it had to be done. Rising slowly back to full height, she folded her hands at the front of her waist and looked down at them.

"Robert?" She intoned softly, biting the inside of her cheek.

"Oh Cora!" He caught her eye, and instantly released Tiaa, gesturing for her to settle down somewhere quietly. "I'm sorry darling, I didn't realize you were still out here. I suppose we owe Harold a small fortune for our share of the phone bill?" He teased with a grin.

She lowered her eyes to the floor, and pressed her lips together.

"Cora?" His gaiety had dissipated along with the smile on his face, and she felt her insides twist whenever he continued to probe softly, "What is it? What's wrong?" And then there was an added edge of irritation that pervaded his next question whenever she didn't answer, "What's Harold done this time?"

She saw his feet drawing nearer, and she looked up and around to make sure they were alone. Unable to look everywhere else but directly into his worried gaze, she murmured hurriedly, "It's uh, it's not Harold. It's-it's Mother."

"What-what's happened?" He tilted his head to one side, forcing their eyes to meet.

She saw the worry clouding his eyes, his face etched with strained lines as he awaited her final words. Her hands tightened together, and she squeaked out sadly, "She died."

"Oh Cora..." He exhaled softly, and she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself not to completely forget herself. His hand reached for hers, and she felt the soft touch of his hands in hers, his thumbs tracing soothing patterns against the back of her palms, "Oh I am sorry..."

"Yes..." She interjected swiftly, her head snapping up to look at him. Nodding, she blinked hard a few times, and managed stiffly, "Yes...as am I."

Robert's hands ran up her arms, and he tried bringing her closer, but she held onto his forearms, keeping some distance between them still. She couldn't allow him to hold her now. She would lose all semblance of reason and succumb to her feelings if she let herself be taken in his strong arms.

And she wouldn't have that, not here, not now. She wouldn't allow the staff to talk about how fragile Lady Grantham appeared to be at the news of her mother's passing. They would talk about it as it was, and she couldn't help that. But she could help how she reacted under the circumstances.

He must have sensed this for he didn't incite a struggle. Instead, he stood there with her, his forearms pressed against hers, allowing for as much space as she silently requested to remain between them.

Glancing up at him, she saw his heart reflected in his pale blue eyes, eyes that were desperately searching hers for what ought to come next. She was always the beacon of hope. The light of assurance on how to act whenever things like this happened.

Cora opened and closed her mouth, trying to tell him that she had no hope. She had nothing to offer him in terms of reassurance. And she found herself blinking several times, head wilting forward in defeat at this realization.

"What-what can I do, darling?" He probed, his hands squeezing her arms until her gaze found his once more. His head tilted to one side, and he asked uncertainly, "What can I do...to help?"

"Uhm...I uh," She ran her teeth across her bottom lip, and slowly shook her head as if the emotions could be shaken off with this motion. "I-I need to...go...to Newport."

"Of course," He nodded. "Of course you do. I will-I will make all the travel arrangements," He declared softly.

Her brow arched gratefully and she exhaled, "Thank you." Releasing her hold on his arms, she moved towards the stairs, something catching her attention from the corner of her eye.

She suddenly noticed Carson hovering nearby, trying to remain stoic and indifferent towards their brief exchange in the middle of the main room.

"Carson," She caught his eye and instructed plainly, "might you fetch Baxter for me? Tell her I need to pack a trunk for Newport at once. And please...tell the staff that I am sorry I won't see them at the holiday party. Mrs. Levinson has passed, and I must be off to handle that."

He inclined his head in compliance with her request, "Of course Milady. And if I might, offer my deepest sympathies."

"Yes, thank you," She murmured hoarsely before turning sharply on her heel and starting towards the stairs.

Robert already had the phone in his hands, but he managed to cast a glance over his shoulder and add, "And Carson...do fetch Bates as well. I'll be going with her Ladyship."

She shot him a quizzical look, her lips parting in silent protest. But he shook his head and shrugged in response, before turning his attention to the operator on the phone.

Deciding it was best to leave that conversation for later, Cora straightened her spine. Her hand swept over the garland wrapped bannister, unknowingly disturbing one of the white flowers from its secure location. She retreated solemnly up the stairs, unaware as it slowly drifted towards the floor, and Carson knelt down to retrieve it.

* * *

She didn't want him there. He saw the silent protest work its way across her face prior to the operator's voice jabbering in his ear, forcing his focus away from his wife's retreating figure. He saw it, but he made the passage for two anyway.

He decided she wasn't thinking clearly. It was her grief and some sort of misplaced guilt that made her want him to remain here at Downton, instead of making the journey to Newport with her. It had to be that, he convinced himself, all the while silently worrying perhaps her emotions weren't the root of this problem.

Perhaps it was him, or even worse, them. Perhaps normalcy hadn't been altogether restored since Simon Bricker gained access into their private lives. Perhaps...

 _No_ , he thought as he settled in one of the armchairs in the smoking room. _No, now you're not thinking clearly_ , he reasoned, swirling the brandy in his short glass, the ice clinking against the sides.

 _It's not that, you old fool. It has nothing to do with that._ Robert swirled the contents of his glass again before taking a slow sip. _Her mother's died. And she's grieving._ He set the glass on a nearby table, staring off into empty space. _This isn't about you. It's about her_ , he reminded himself, feeling himself cringing from his own selfish thoughts that seized him.

"Here you are," Mary broke through the bit of quiet he found, sounding a bit pleased in spite of her otherwise somber voice.

He heard her shoes thumping methodically against the carpet. Then she came into view, hovering in front of his chair. Her fingers curling into her palms as they usually did whenever she felt a bit out of place.

And he must admit, he felt a bit odd seeing his eldest daughter standing here in front of him. The smoking room was typically reserved for gentlemen who indulged in the habit. However, he hadn't smoked since the incident, so it felt a bit hypocritical to point this out.

"I expected you'd be upstairs packing," She remarked lightly.

"Bates is nearly finished," Robert explained briefly, lifting his glass to his lips again. As he set it back down, he finished, "I didn't see a need for me to oversee the last of it."

Mary's brow creased and she posited, "You're not planning on taking him with you, are you? Not with Anna so close to her time." Her words were edged with genuine interest.

"No, your Mother wouldn't hear of it," Robert shook his head casting another glance at his nearly drained glass of brandy.

There was a distinct pause in their exchange before Mary was asking softly, "How is she?"

His eyes shot up to find hers, widened out of concern. Robert's lips twitched at the corners and he remarked sullenly, "As well as we can expect her to be."

Mary nodded, looking down, her hands closed into fists at present. "I tried looking in just now," Her jaw clenched and mouth turned to one side with this brief explanation.

He sensed her defeat, and shared in it. Cora wouldn't be comforted. The realization pained him, but there was nothing to be done about it.

The fact of the matter was, she'd rather take on her grief on her own than allow anyone else to share in it. That was what made moving past Sybil's death so terribly hard for the both of them. Well, one of the things. He thought this would be different. He hoped it would once the shock of it all wore off.

Exhaling deeply, Robert explained rather simply, "She wanted to rest this afternoon. We'll arrive in Liverpool rather late tonight, and we're boarding quite early the next morning."

It was partially true. But it was all he needed. Mary wouldn't press the matter further. It wasn't in her nature to pry on such subjects.

"Of course," Was her response.

Robert watched her look off to the side, studying the fireplace for several seconds. Her fingers flexed a few more times, stroking the underside of her hands. She looked thoughtful, and so he wondered perhaps if there was a reason for her seeking him out.

Cocking his head to one side, he probed softly, "Did you need something, darling?"

"Well...no, not exactly. It's just..." Mary inhaled a deep breath before releasing it and then looking back to him. "Papa, are you sure Edith and I shouldn't come? It hardly seems right us making merry here while you and Mama go to Newport for Grandmama's funeral." She frowned at this, folding her hands together at her waist.

He sighed, looking back to his glass sitting on top of the nearby table. Tracing his finger around the circumference of the top edge, he stated plainly, "It's what your Mother wants, and I wouldn't argue it."

"But are you sure Mama is thinking it through?" Mary tried again. "I mean, it being just the two of you and Uncle Harold seems so wrong."

"Oh it won't just be us," Robert assured with a shrug. He found her conflicted gaze once more before continuing, "Your Grandmama has a great deal of friends in Newport. And a sister from what I gather."

"Yes..." She paused, scrunching her brow together in quizzical manner, "why is it we've never met Mama's Aunt Clara?"

He lifted his shoulders, "I don't rightly know." That was the whole truth.

"It's curious," Mary commented neutrally.

Nodding he replied, "It certainly is. But I expect there's a reason we don't know her."

He hoped that was the end of her inquisition concerning Aunt Clara. When he broached the subject with Cora, he wasn't met with anything more than cryptic answers.

"Perhaps," Mary's mouth twisted to one side, and she paused another moment. Shaking her head a bit, signaling the change in subject, she went on, "But in any event, I just wanted to be sure Mama hadn't changed her mind. Edith and I have talked it through."

He hummed amusedly, her and Edith finding some common ground to provoke a meaningful discussion.

"We really wouldn't mind coming along. Tom and Henry will be glad to manage the children. And Rose would no doubt charm all the guests and see that they're adequately cared for."

It seemed an inviting prospect. It would certainly ensure that Cora had support from many avenues and not just from him. Perhaps she'd be more receptive to the girls than she'd been to him. Or perhaps it would merely intensify her feelings of mismanaged guilt.

No, it was better this way.

So he told her in a deflated tone, "Mary, I can't ask you to spend Christmas away from your family."

"Well you don't have to ask," She squared her shoulders, her voice growing bolder as she went on. "I'd be more than happy to come of my own free will. And so would Edith."

Robert smiled a bit, showing his appreciation at her insistence, but he knew it would end there. "You might be happy to come, but your Mother wouldn't be happy about it. Stay here. It's where she needs you most."

"It won't feel like Christmas without the two of you here," Mary confessed with a saddened curl to her lips.

He inclined his head once more in agreement before adding, "I'm not sure it will feel like Chistmas with us being away from Downton and all you children either." He lifted his glass in her direction, telling her with as much encouragement as he could muster, "But we must make do with what we have this year."

"Yes," She lowered her gaze muttering, "yes, of course." She turned to one side, and it looked as though she was considering leaving the room right then and there.

However, he kept her in the room with his hopeful pleas of, "Will you see that Marigold gets her pony?" This produced a bit of a snort from her, and he felt himself smiling a bit in silent reply.

Everyone had heard about the 'disagreement,' over breakfast. Now the mention of the pony didn't bring irritation, but some sort of comic relief, given the turn the days events had taken.

"And that all the children get their coats?" He went on a bit more seriously before deciding, "It will do your Mother glad to see them properly outfitted upon our return."

"Have you set a return date?" She glanced in his direction again.

"No, not yet," He went on in a tired voice. "Your Mother's not quite sure of the funeral arrangements what with Harold being in charge and Christmas being so close. I thought it more prudent to wait until we knew what we were doing exactly before booking a return passage."

"Well, we will be sure to keep everything up until then," Mary promised with an air of hopefulness flooding her words. Her eyes lit up a bit as she suggested, "And we can exchange gifts and have a little Christmas of our own. Just us Crawleys. Mama would undoubtedly enjoy that, wouldn't she?"

He smiled, feeling the corners of his eyes crinkling. It was a sweet notion, one that he thought would make Cora feel better about the way things were. "I daresay she would," Robert offered his warm approval of the suggestion. "A fine idea that is, Mary."

She beamed back at him in return and nodded, "Well, I won't keep you. I'm sure you'd like to rest a bit before your journey as well."

He set his glass back down, knowing better than the refill it while Mary was still present. "You'll see us off at five?" It was more of a request than a suggestion.

"We all will," Mary confirmed with a bob of her head before leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Robert cast a glance outside the tall window that ran from floor to ceiling, watching the grey clouds gather overhead. He silently wished they carried promises of snow, and not some ominous foreboding as he downed the remnants of his drink and set it on the side table. At least with snow, there was some feeling of Christmas in the air.

* * *

 **Are you guys sick of me writing Cora grieving over lost loved ones yet? Don't worry, I intend to stick with this one. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

The last few days had been tumultuous. In spite of the steamer's reinforced technology that promised smooth sailing, they could still feel the pitch and rock of the waves as the icy storms raged on.

Cora mostly kept to their stateroom, the bite of the wind that brushed over the sea was too sharp against her face. The cold burned her lungs, leaving a hollow feeling deep inside her chest. She already felt hollow enough inside. She didn't need any further assistance in feeling as such.

Robert, on the other hand, spent more time on deck than in their room. The unexpected roughness of the waves, affecting his equilibrium more than he cared to admit.

But she didn't mind his absence. If anything it was something of a relief to her. She could plan without feeling him hovering nearby. She didn't have to contend with him watching her carefully, as though something, anything he said or did, or that she said or did, would cause her to break.

She wasn't fragile. She wasn't sure how many times she needed to say it in order for him to believe it. She could manage this. She could survive this. She _would_ survive this.

The door to their room squealed open, and Robert stepped inside. "Woo..." He breathed out a shiver that coursed through him. Taking off his hat, coat, and gloves he placed them on the chair beside the door.

Their eyes met briefly while he stepped deeper into the room towards the fire, peeling off his gloves.

"Feeling better?" She wondered quietly from the chaise that was situated against the back wall of the room.

"Aside from the fact I might possibly have pneumonia," He grumbled, rubbing his hands together and warming them in front of the small fireplace that heated the room. He stared into the flames and sighed, "I'm perfectly fine."

"I'll make you some tea," She decided plainly, swinging her legs over the edge of the lounge chair, and moving towards the glass paneled cabinets in the opposite corner.

"Cora, really, you don't have to do that," Robert consoled.

Taking the tea kettle between her hands, she moved into the small lieu, adjacent to their man room, and filled it with water.

"Really, my stomach is settled now, darling," He insisted from doorway, startling her with his close proximity.

She flipped off the faucet, and spun around slowly to face him. Lifting a brow she mused knowingly, "Just as it was settled after lunch this afternoon?"

Robert opened his mouth to offer his protest, but she slid between him and the door frame, moving back into their room towards the fire.

"I know this tastes dreadful," She informed him, as she carefully hung the kettle for boiling just above the fire. Swiping her hands together as if to dispel the nonexistent ashes that coated her hands, she took a step back and looked at him. "But it seems to help," She insisted, pacing back to the cupboard in the room, and pulling out all the essentials for ginger tea.

"Yes but…" He started and then stopped as the teacups and saucers clattered a bit while she gathered them together and set them down on the low table near the fireplace. "Darling, I can manage myself."

She couldn't stop herself from snorting as she scooped some of the tea leaf and herb concoction into the two cups.

"What?" He echoed in mild disbelief. "I serve myself at Downton, don't I?"

"On occasion, I suppose you do," She offered softly as if she was making some sort of effort to remain on common ground. Yet she couldn't stop herself from adding sadly, "But we aren't at Downton."

She let out another breath, allowing herself to sink in one of the armchairs poised in front of the fireplace. As if on cue, Robert took residence in the seat opposite her.

It was a smaller room than they'd been accustomed to in the past. A queen's sized bed filled up most of the room, with chests and drawers smartly arranged on either side of it. There was a chaise pressed up against the back wall, below the high porthole that gave adequate view of the upper deck. The wood and glass paneled cabinet where Cora found the supplies for making tea was nestled in that corner. A door to a basic lavatory adjacent to that. And then at the foot of the bed were the two armchairs, angled towards the fireplace that was attended to at least three times a day.

They had neither ladies maid nor valet in their company. With Anna so close to her time, it seemed cruel to bring Bates with them and unfair to ask Baxter to come along and have her Christmas spoiled too. No, they only had the maid who worked for the ocean liner and came whenever they called for something to be cleaned or made up.

Neither of them had bothered to learn her name. They didn't have much use for her aside from stoking the fire or replacing their dishes. Besides, this was only temporary. There wasn't a need to grow too comfortable.

"I spoke with one of the look out's while I was up on deck," He interrupted the quiet with this neutral statement.

"Oh?" She looked to him, trying to appear far more interested than she would undoubtedly be.

"He seems to think we shall arrive on schedule," Robert concluded, smiling proudly at this discovery.

"Well that's...good," She flashed a brief grin in return, although it no doubt looked more pained than relieved.

"Yes," He agreed amiably, "yes, I thought so too."

Another twitch of a tired smile at her lips, another tense silence descending upon them. Cora was never more grateful for the shrill whistle of the kettle, signaling the water had boiled.

She rose swiftly, her dark skirts swishing as she moved towards the fire. She took a cloth, wrapped it around the handle, and moved back towards both emptied tea cups. She felt Robert's eyes trained on her while she worked, her heart beating a bit faster, hands trembling just a fraction.

"I always forget you know how to do that," He commented lightly whenever her handed him his steaming, rose painted cup, splashed with a gold floral pattern.

Her lips edged into a slight half smile that he couldn't see as she retrieved the sugar bowl from the corner cabinet. And part of her took small pleasure in this, although for whatever reason, she couldn't deduce.

"I wasn't always Countess of Grantham, being waited on hand and foot," Cora replied knowingly as she moved to place the tiny bowl on a table next to him and take her seat opposite of him.

He blinked back at her for a few moments before blowing quietly across the rim of his teacup and taking a reluctant sip. "Urgh..." He groaned, his face contorting while he smacked his lips at the unpleasantness of the bitter, ginger tang.

 _It was better this way_ , she told herself. The abominable condition of the tea gave them something to remark on that didn't require too much emotional sacrifice. That she could manage.

"Sugar, darling," She inclined her head to the bowl she set beside him.

Robert shrugged and then plopped a few cubes inside the sickly green contents of his cup.  
Taking another sip, his expression appeared less severe this time whenever swallowed the concoction. "Much better, thank you dearest," He murmured, forcing another swig of it down before placing it on the nearby table.

His gaze worked its way back towards hers, and she instinctively lowered her eyes behind dark lashed, taking a long while to sip her tea.

"Perhaps we could have some more of those sandwiches," He broached the subject cautiously, standing decisively and moving towards the bell for the maid.

"If you like," She answered softly, "I'm not really hungry."

"But darling," She didn't need to look up to know he was furrowing his brow, frowning at her out of deep concern. His objection could be heard well before she dared to find his eye again, "You've barely eaten since we left Downton."

She shrugged, "I'm just not very hungry, Robert."

"I don't blame you for it, but…" He trailed off, his palms flipping open at both sides, "well, you know…you really ought to take care..."

"And so I am," She retorted sharper than she intended to. "I'm taking care of myself just fine," Another short, deliberate sip of her tea followed this curt remark. "I don't _need_ you to."

How long would it take for him to understand this? How many times, how many different ways would she have to say it until he just left her alone? She was a grown woman. She raised three daughters, and managed him for the last thirty-five years. She didn't need caring for.

But apparently he knew this. He knew this, and he didn't shy away from the words that cut her deeply. He let out a heavy sigh, his tone full of all the sadness she felt inside her heart.

"But Cora, I _want_ to."

She visibly flinched at his words. They struck her quite hard, but not as hard as the flicker of melancholy that shot through his pale eyes. She knew there was no way out of this unless she wanted to incite a row. And she was far too tired to face that at present.

"Fine," She told him through clenched teeth, trying to disguise the tremor in her bottom lip. Her hands curled over the armrests of her char, fingers aching from the tension in them. "If you insist-"

"I do," He interrupted her train of thought, his tone final. His finger jabbed the bell, and she jumped from the harsh buzzing noise that suddenly came from overhead.

She stared back at him, seeing his melancholy expression shift into a sort of cold indifference as he pressed the button for far longer than was necessary.

The corner of her eyes started prickling again, and she was forced to avert her attention.

He released the button, and strode back over to the end table where his tea nearly lay abandoned.

"If you must insist I drink this dreadful tea, then I must insist you to have some sandwiches," He remarked evenly.

Cora heard him taking another determined sip before smacking his lips in false enjoyment of his balm. He was only making such a show to prove that his patience too had its own limitations, but she never had asked him to be patient with her.

This notion set her teeth on edge, and she stood with whatever determination left inside of her. Propelled forward by either irritation or a desire to escape, she couldn't tell the difference at present.

All that she knew was that this room suddenly felt cramped, and that she wouldn't last with him on the verge of snapping at her at the slightest thing she did or said. Even if she'd brought it all down upon herself, right now, she didn't quite have the strength to face it.

"I need some air," Her words quivered, but she made a point to stalk past him with her shoulders rolled back and chin jutted forward.

"You need to eat," He argued flatly by her side whenever she plucked her coat from the rack beside the door.

She bristled at his words, any semblance of guilt or humility being washed away by the stern expression she saw hovering by her left shoulder. He reached for her arm, but was merely met with the air as she wrenched back her arm swiftly, before he could ever get the chance to detain her.

"Don't," She growled at him, "don't tell me what I need, Robert."

Cora opened the door, her coat still tucked under one arm as she stomped towards the promenade.

She already felt the bite of the winter air seep beneath her thin blouse, a shiver coursing through her. She halphazardly swung her coat over both shoulders, not even noticing that she almost hit a gentleman with her elbow in the process. Her eyes burned and cheeks stung as angry tears made their way down her cheeks in spite of her internal protests to fight off the feeling.

 _Why would he do that?_ She asked herself. _Why would he insist upon the sandwiches? Why would he try and tell her what she needed when he didn't have a clue? Why...?_

It was a futile question to be asking when she already knew the answer.

 _Because he_ wants _to care for you._

And then there was the other one, the one she couldn't answer so readily that echoed through her mind.

 _Why won't you just let him?_

* * *

His closed fist came into contact with the door as it slammed shut behind her. "Bloody hell!" He grumbled fiercely under his breath, feeling the throbbing ache instantly spread from his wrist to the tips of his fingers. Gripping his hand close to his middle, Robert turned away from the door, slowly flexing and unflexing his appendages while gritting his teeth from the horrible self-inflicted pain.

It was a mistake. All of it. Coming here when he wasn't wanted, hovering by her every chance his stomach wasn't turning uneasily, and then, smashing his fist against the wooden door. He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have done any of it.

And yet, he did it all anyway. He told himself it was for her.

But was it? Was it really _just_ for her? He was used to giving her what she wanted. He happily did it time and time again at the expense of his own happiness. But not this time. No, this time was different.

This time he insisted. This time he wouldn't be swayed to doubt his decision. No matter how much she hardened herself. No matter how much she pushed him away. He would stay.

He was her husband after all. He was made to weather the bad times by her side, just as he was made to relish in the good ones that befell them.

And more than that. He loved her.

So with every contorted facial expression that painted her face, every nervous wring of her hands, every faraway glint in her eyes of things unspoken, his heart ached for her. And with every passing day that she turned away from him and retreated inside herself, he felt a dreadful combination of helplessness and frustration.

He was lost. He was scared. He was angry. And most of all, he was guilt ridden for feeling anything at all.

He had no right to. Just because she wouldn't give into her feelings, didn't mean he should. It was _her_ mother who died, not his. He shouldn't feel it all so fiercely. He should just keep it all to himself. For her sake. For their sake.

The sandwiches came. He spoke briefly to the maid, although the words exchanged between them were soon forgotten with her departure.

He sipped more tea as he paced the room, nearly gagging on the icy bitterness that trickled down his throat. At least when it was hot the warm burned his throat, leaving little acerbicity behind to taste. Now it was nearly unbearable.

As was the silence. As was being without her.

But he didn't have to take the latter for much longer.

The door to their cabin squealed open, and she slowly lifted her head catching his eye as he simultaneously pivoted on his heel to face her.

Her hair was loose, dark tendrils swirling out from the once tightened hold, tickling her pink cheeks, stained from the chilled air outside. He saw the tip of her nose was pinker than usual, and her eyes more swollen than he remembered before her hasty departure.

His heart tugged. Had she been crying? Or was her porcelain skin just made flushed from the cold? He couldn't tell as she wordlessly broke contact with his gaze and shrugged out of her coat before hanging it on the nearby stand.

"The sandwiches came," He announced lamely, gesturing towards the untouched tray laid out before him, in between the two armchairs.

Cora merely nodded, padding quietly through the room.

"I had her restore the fire as well," He commented neutrally, clearing his throat and then fixing his eyes upon the flames now roaring in the hearth.

"That's..." Cora began, pausing, pursing her lips together, she moved beside him in front of the fire, her line of vision following his, "...very thoughtful." She murmured softly, drawing a few paces closer before rubbing her hands together and than warming her open palms just above the flames.

His lips twitched at the corners from her momentary praise. He watched her stand there warming herself for a few seconds and then slowly sank down in the armchair he had occupied earlier. He picked up a sandwich, settled it on a plate, and then sat back in his seat.

"Is it bitterly cold out there?" He wondered before taking a bite of his sandwich. The smoked salmon made his stomach feel a bit uneasy, but he managed to polish it off in a few bites successfully.

"Yes," She exhaled in a far away tone. Her fingers flexed a few times, and she rubbed her hands together once more.

Robert reached for another sandwich as she moved gracefully to sit in the opposite chair.

He felt her staring at him as he finished a second one, and when he found her frowning expression, he felt himself instinctively tense again.

"What?" He couldn't help the defensive bite that sounded through the single word. He tried to keep his face relax, not wanting her to think he was prepared to do battle again.

"Were you..." She clenched her jaw, looking at the tray of sandwiches between them, and then the half eaten one that hovered halfway between his plate and his mouth, "...nevermind." She decided, shaking her head.

"Cora, if you wish to say something just say it," He sighed, feeling the exasperation rise in his tone, and her eyes to lift from the sandwich she was placing a top her plate.

Her eyes widened, brow arching as if to silently challenge his tone of voice.

"Please," He added, sounding more disingenuous than he meant.

Straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders, Cora edged forward on her seat, reaching for a bundle of grapes on the tray. She plucked them one by one rather forcefully from the spindly stalk holding them together, her clipped tone accompanying each one she dropped on her plate, "I was. Just. Going. To ask. If you. Were. Waiting. For me."

Once the dried out vine bore no more grapes, she popped one into her mouth and crunched into it rather harshly. She settled back against the seat, the round, purple pieces rolling precariously across her plate.

He saw the indignation flare up in her cool, blue eyes. Her mouth edging into a triumphant smirk, as though she was unaffected by the tension that brewed between them.

Robert suddenly had the urge to smash his sandwich plate against the table, but he resisted. It would do no good to allow his anger to flare up again. His right hand tightened and that searing pain stretched through the tendons, that dull ache filling his bones. It served as a reminder to still himself. To hold onto whatever string of patience remained inside of him.

He left his plate back on the table that filled the space between them. Casting his attention off to one side, he decided evenly, "Of course I was. A gentleman always waits."

She snorted at this, obviously finding some bit of humor in his words. But it was the wrong response. He didn't have it in him to put up with her mockery just now.

"You know Cora," He could feel the words he really wanted to say trickle over his tongue, but he paused deliberately, inhaling and exhaling in a forceful manner. He tried counting a bit, hoping it would stave off the anger he could feel bubbling inside of him.

Robert glanced at her, his face hardening as he spoke, "I'm a patient man. But I'm not a saint. Don't..."

"Don't _what_?" She taunted mockingly, cocking her head to one side. Her eyes widened with a pseudo ignorance that was enough to drive her mad. "What _shouldn't_ I do, Robert?"

He clenched his fist tightly, feeling his injured hand pulse again. "You know _what_ ," He practically spat out, wincing from the pain.

"Forgive me if I'm simply not in the mood to cater to _your_ feelings at present," She snapped, her icy blue eyes narrowing. "I told you before we left that you didn't have to..."

"I know!" He pounded his uninjured fist against the arm of the chair, unable to keep his feelings beneath the surface any longer. "I know! I bloody know, alright?!" He pushed himself up out of the chair, and he took several frantic paces before whirling around and sneering at her, " _You_ don't want me here! I know!"

But her anger had been a farce. It hadn't burned as deeply as his. He saw it now as she sat back in the armchair, blinking up at him, her eyes silently pooling. With an inverted brow, she bit on her mouth but not before the quivering, "Robert-" escaped her lips.

And in spite of knowing he should stop in spite of knowing it was wrong to keep shouting at her, he couldn't. He'd let it all simmer for too long, and now the words he promised himself he would never shout at her under the circumstances were boiling over like an untended kettle.

"I-I know! I know shouldn't have come! But I did! I left Downton and the children and the girls and Mama and at Christmas time too! I left it all behind and-and for what?! For _this_?! To fight with you?! About what?! About nothing, that's what! I came here for _you_! And you-you-you-"

He was losing steam now. His train of thought had entirely derailed now that he saw her folding in on herself again.

Her mouth fused tightly together, her eyes squeezed shut as she bowed her head. Her hands wrung together until the knuckles of her fingers blanched.

"I-I-I...I'm sorry..." She stammered through quick, gasping breaths. "I-I-I-I didn't realize I was-was-was such a...nuisance!" She blubbered, her eyes, flashing open full of hot tears.

Robert sighed heavily, feeling an intolerable spasm between beats of his heart. He lowered his head, and shuffled conciliatory towards her seated form, "Cora I-"

"No!" She rose swiftly from her seat, and positioned herself on the other side of the chair. "No!" She pointed an accusatory finger in his direction, shrieking in an unsteady voice. "Don't you dare! Don't you make me feel...I didn't ask you to come!"

He tentatively approached her, his hands hanging in midair in surrender. "I know. I know, and I'm sorry I-I'm sorry." He told her, softly, moving around the chair.

She back away, shaking her head, and accusing, "You came because...because..." Her voice wavered as she practically tripped backwards over her own feet, her hand reached out and gripped the back of the winged chair while he simultaneously reached for her forearms to help steady her.

Cora inhaled a sharp breath, but she didn't resist his touch. Instead she merely whimpered, her eyes darting upon everything that wasn't him.

His thumb rubbed across the smooth skin of her forearm, and he murmured gently, "Because I'm your husband."

Her face contorted as though his words only deepened her distress. He was about to utter another apology for this, but saw it was unnecessary whenever her head fell into the center of his chest.

Robert drew her into his arms, and finally, they both temporarily found what they needed from the other.

* * *

 _ **I'm sure this is riddled with typos & errors, please let me know of any glaring ones. I just really wanted to keep this going as it was due around Christmas and we haven't even gotten to the Christmasy part yet (whoops I'm terrible with updating regularly). Thanks to everyone for their support & comments thus far, I do appreciate it! As always, if you have some time to continue sharing your thoughts, I would love you forever. Thanks so much lovelies! **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Alright so, there's not a lot in terms of plot progression in this update. But I just needed to get something down to give me the forward momentum to keep going with this story. I appreciate everyone's words of encouragement thus far, it really does mean a lot! And I do plan on finishing this (and my other DA fics), life is just crazy hectic at present and this story is kind of emotionally taxing to write. Anyway, enough of my rambles...e**_ _ **njoy & if you have any questions, comments (both positive and/or constructive), I always love to hear them! xoxo, Lynnie**_

* * *

Their shoulders bumped intermittently as they crammed together in the back of the motorcar that was rattling onward to Levinson Manor. Robert's knees braced against the back seat, trying to still the jarring motion of his body that clumsily knocked into his wife's. He sunk down a bit in his seat, his shoulders rounding. This act in itself, caught Cora's eye.

She quirked a questioning brow at him, but the slight curve to her lips told him she was more amused with his odd behavior than annoyed.

A surge of relief coursed through him, and he flashed a momentary smile before lowering his gaze. "Sorry," He murmured before the driver took a sharp turn, and Robert's arm reached out to brace himself from crushing Cora against the door. "For goodness sake, be careful man!" Robert shouted, knocking on the glass once things had settled.

The driver waved and nodded at him, muttering something incoherently from behind the partition that separated them.

Robert's brow knit together and he frowned, shooting a look at Cora, he wondered, "What did he say?"

She shrugged and answered uncertainly, "Something about the conditions being rough."

"Well I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Robert remarked wryly, tilting his head from one side to the other. "But the conditions aren't the only thing that's rough about this ride."

A ghost of a smile floated across her lips, and she placed a gloved hand atop his thigh before casting a glance outside her window.

Robert's heart fluttered a bit from the contact, and his hand covered hers, their fingers instinctively curling around one another's. He left her to her thoughts, not wanting to disturb the momentary peace they found between them since that night on the ship.

She apologized profusely for being so harsh, clinging tightly to him, her tears dampening the front of his grey suit. And he likewise sought her forgiveness for the words he bitterly regretted, stroking her windswept hair and pressing soft kisses among the dark tresses.

Like always, they found their way passed the troubles that separated them, and back to one another. For no spat, no matter how dreadful-no circumstance, no matter how dark-could extinguish the burning glow of the love that still beat fiercely in their hearts for one another. And although the fire had grown dim over the course of some troubling years, they always came up with a way to fan the flames so they shone even brighter than before.

 _This_ wasn't quite as dire as one of _those_ times. But as Robert learned with the Bricker business, just as Cora had with Jane, when neglected, the fire could be more easily put out than whenever it was tended to. And they both silently vowed to leave it unattended again.

His thumb lightly caressed the back of her gloved hand. He was grateful things were, at the very least, good between them. As for anything else, he couldn't be certain, nor could she. But Cora's grip pulsated in mute response to his wordless gesture, making him believe that she was glad they were once more at peace as well. And for now, that meant everything.

Robert eyed the snow covered roads that stretched out before them, seeing the wheel slip through the driver's hands far more easily than he would have liked. So he decided to focus his attention on the scenery that jostled passed them.

The brown stone faced buildings looked more grey among the cloudy, snow filled skies where thick flakes of white showered down on those hustling in and out of shops that lined both sides of the street. The shops were dressed in their yuletide finery as electric lights brightened up shop windows, where carefully crafted displays called attention to those passing by.

Women in smart wool coats with fur trimmed collars and muffs, linked arms with handsome men in tall hats. Children ambled ahead of their parents, not bothering to heed their warning calls of, _Be careful!_ or _Watch out for the cars!_ However, the youngster's desire to press their mitten covered hands and pink noises against frosted windows where the toys were displayed overpowered any cries for safety.

And even though the shop faces had changed (or so, he thought from his limited memory of Newport), and the tall iron lamp posts that were once powered by gas now gave off the brilliant glare created by electric current, he was comforted in knowing that the same spirited children remained with their worried parents trailing languidly behind them.

It reminded him of times gone by. Of the last time they had brought the girls to Newport for the holidays. And he smiled, allowing his gaze to pull away from the present for just a moment.

 _"I thought you'd be too old for hot cocoa," He teased lightly as his eldest daughter took a long sip from the steaming cup pressed between her kidskin gloves._

 _"Well if you aren't, than I can't be," She retorted in like, the edges of her mouth curling into a slight smile. "Besides," Mary took the front edges of her wool coat, pulling them closer together, "It's freezing here. How else am I to keep warm?"_

 _"Ask that McKinney boy from the other night," Sybil suddenly appeared behind her, her eyes shimmering with mischief, "I'm sure he'd be able to give you some advice on the matter."_

 _"Sybil!" Mary hissed, her cheeks instantly flushing as she pawed in her youngest sister's general direction._

 _But Sybil, just turned fourteen, darted swiftly away, giggling in delight at being privileged to know such intimate information._

 _"What did she mean by that?" Robert wondered, scrunching his brow. He had to ask, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know._

 _"Oh nothing," Mary rolled her eyes, flipping an indifferent hand._

 _She strode away from the street vendor with his steaming tureens of hot cocoa, and towards her sisters who were clustered on either side of their mother. Edith's nose was buried in a book she couldn't put down for a second, not even for an afternoon stroll in the village. And Sybil held onto Cora's hands, jabbering and giggling as she usually did, Cora indulging her every whim by hanging onto each word._

 _He moved to following Mary, rejoining the group. His shoes crunched beneath the white layer of snow that blanketed the sidewalk. He felt the bitter sting of winter at the tips of his ears and nose, and took another sip of hot cocoa._

 _"Shall we start back?" He looked at Cora, who in turn, focused her attention on him. "I'm sure we've given your Mother sufficient time for her last minute gift wrapping," He decided, wanting nothing more than to get out of the cold._

 _"Very well," Cora agreed with a slight smile._

 _And they were off. Mary leading the pack, Sybil trailing after her, pestering her every now and then with remarks that were only carried to Robert's ears when the wind mercilessly shrieked. And Edith was somewhere in between them and her sisters, not really paying attention to her immediate surroundings, but rather immersed in some faraway place that was no doubt warmer and more inviting than Newport in the heart of December._

 _And then there was Cora's arm, looped tightly through his, her cheek pressing into the side of his shoulder as she shivered against the cold. He rubbed his free hand along her arm, trying to create some friction. A poor attempt indeed at keeping her warm, but it wasn't a gesture that went unnoticed._

 _She leaned away, took a final sip from his cup of cocoa that she procured somewhere along the way before tossing it in a nearby wastebasket._

 _"Thank you, darling." She smiled appreciatively at him before re affixing her gaze back on the girls, still trailing ahead of them._

 _"It's not much, but hopefully it's enough to keep you warm," He returned with a slight shrug. "At least, until we can get you in front of the fire," He offered with an inviting curve to his lips, and she merely rolled her eyes at him giggled softly._

 _"I think we'll all be in front of the fire, else someone's bound to get pneumonia as an early Christmas gift."_

 _He chuckled a bit at her smart remark._

 _There was a pause in which all they could hear was the crunching of boots and the occasional clips of conversation while people passed them by. And then that name again, flying on the wings of the bitter wind in Sybil's singsong voice: Thomas McKinney!_

 _And now, he felt the need to know. It wasn't nothing Sybil was talking about earlier. It was in fact_ something _. This McKinney boy was in fact, something, something to his Mary. And he needed to know_ what _that something was precisely._

 _He broke through the pause in conversation with his wife, "Cora?"_

 _"Hm?" She turned her face up to find his._

 _The question tumbled out of his mouth without any real warning, "Who is that McKinney boy Sybil keeps mentioning?"_

 _She smiled, lowering her eyes and then allowed a breath of amusement to pass her lips. "Just one of the young men whom Mary danced with at the Roanoke's party on Wednesday."_

 _"Well I assumed as much but..."_

 _Her head snapped up and she probed, "But what, darling?"_

 _"Is that all he is?" Robert chanced a glance in her direction, lifting a brow as if to question the depth of her response._

 _"As far as I know," She shrugged. And then her face pinched out of uncertainty, and she went on curiously, "Why do you ask?"_

 _"Oh..." He bristled a bit, not expecting her to wonder on the subject for far too long. Shrugging, he offered half heartedly, "No real reason,"_

 _"Of course not." She endeavored to keep her tone light, but it was the glint of a knowing smile that sparkled in her eyes, giving her innocence away._ _Cora must have noticed he realized this, for she merely smirked, nudged him in the side, "Don't worry Robert, she's still keen on marrying Patrick."_

 _He blinked back at her, "She's_ keen _on the idea now?" Up until that point, Mary had accepted the idea, but no talk of her liking her intended ever reached his eyes._

 _"Well..." Cora looked ahead, amending in a neutral tone, "as keen as she can be with such an arrangement."_

 _"He's not a terrible lad," Robert offered up a bit more defensively than usual._

 _He followed her eyes down the path, watching his daughter's weave in between other pedestrians braving the cold weather that afternoon._

 _They were still ignorant to the hard truths of their position in this world. They could still be carefree and laugh and, heaven help him, feel love for a boy. However, when he looked at Mary, he knew it would all be over soon. Her idealistic world would come crashing down upon realizing the full extent of her marriage to Patrick. And a part of him felt a pang of guilt at this thought._

 _So he cast his eyes to Cora, seeking some semblance of reassurance that he was making the right choice for them all, and not just for the sake of his duty to Downton. "James might be a bit...but Patrick's not...terrible...is he?"_

 _"No," Cora's gaze flickered up to find his. "Patrick's not terrible. He's rather sweet, I think," The corners of her mouth flickered up at the ends._

 _He nodded, lowering his attention back down to the snow covered path, "I wonder... do you think she'll be happy?"_

 _"I daresay she_ is _happy, Robert. We'll get to keep Downton in the family. And she loves it just as much as you do."_

 _Inclining his head again, they pressed onward against the cold with the promise of warmth not too faraway._

The sharp intake of breath from his left, brought him back. He glanced over at his wife, feeling his knuckles crunch beneath her tightening grip.

"Cora?" He broached cautiously, his nerves on edge from the tension that suddenly seized her and transferred into him. "What is it?"

"It looks so different," She breathed softly, swallowing back some emotion he couldn't quite understand, but one he would certainly try to.

"So different than I recall," She spoke again, her voice sounding as though it were miles and miles away from here.

And perhaps, in some way, she was. Just as he had been sheer seconds ago.

* * *

 _Had it been a whole year? Really,_ that _long?_ She thought to herself as she took in the sight of Levinson Manor.

The generally pristinely white exterior, trimmed in a cheerful canary yellow looked almost stony grey to her now. The expertly manicured shrubbery and bright flowers were buried under drifts of snowy white. The trees once full of blossoms were bare.

It looked severe, and almost haunting. And it was the shock of it all, the contrast of what it last looked to her, that rattled her quite unexpectedly.

The last time she came things were in bloom. The windows were open and the sound of her mother's drawl as she ordered her staff about could be heard as Cora's shoes clipped against the cement drive.

However now, everything was still. The windows were tightly shut and frosted over with ice, and the curtains half drawn on the first floor drawing room.

Mother never kept those curtains drawn.

 _"Keep those open, Maggie," Martha barked from the settee in the front sitting room. "If I can't enjoy the first day of spring outside, at least let me see the sun."_

 _Cora smiled over at the housemaid politely before sinking down in the adjacent armchair decorated with embroidered oriental print. She kept her hands neatly folded in her lap, grateful for the comfort the seat provided her aching legs from the long journey across._

 _"Really Cora," Martha let out a tired sigh once the maid left them alone in the room, "it was entirely unnecessary for you to come all this way over a sprained ankle." She shifted beneath the blankets, her one leg propped up on a pile of pillows jostling a bit from the motion. She winced, and Cora instinctively leaned forward, but Martha raised a halting hand and grumbled, "It's not as though I am dying."_

 _Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at this, Cora shifted back in the chair, remarking lightly, "I didn't come just because of your ankle, Mother."_

 _Martha's brown eyes flickered upward, questioningly._

 _"I came to see you," Cora persisted, her mouth curving into a smile that only felt half convincing until she added, "It's been so long."_

 _"Yes well, you didn't have to drop everything and come just for me." Her mother droned on, crossing her arms in front of her. She cast her gaze to the nearby window and decided wistfully, "You have enough going on in that house of yours."_

 _"Hardly," Cora assured with a slight snort._

 _"What?" Martha's head snapped round, her eyes widening as she sat up as straight as she could given her lounging position. "No charity events to sponsor? No patrons to bat your eyelashes at and charm while Robert whisks them away to talk business? No grandchildren to dote...?"_

 _"Well, what I meant was..." Cora interjected with a strained smile, "...things have quieted down recently." She paused, meeting her mother's eye before reassuring as calmly as she could given the circumstances, "So I can afford to have some time away from Downton. I can afford to visit you and Harold for a little while."_

 _"Without Robert?" Martha arched a dubious brow. "Golly, I never thought I'd see the day the pair of you weren't joined at the hip," She taunted with a brief snicker._

 _At the mention of her husband, Cora felt her heart flutter and her stomach clench uncomfortably. Swallowing, she managed behind tightened lips, "Well, Robert, came here without me once too, if you recall."_

 _"Yes, all that unpleasantness your brother found himself caught up in," Martha scoffed, flipping her hand and rolling her eyes in disdain. "Yes, but that was different." She studied her daughter for a brief moment, as if trying to discern precisely what it all meant._

 _Cora shifted a bit, eyes flickering off to the side to avert her mother's intense stare. Even after all these years, she still felt an uneasiness around the prodding and nagging expertise of Martha Levinson._

 _It was ridiculous, and her cheeks flushed at the notion. She was a grown woman with grown children and grandchildren even._

 _But she supposed age had nothing to do with her need to prove her mother wrong. To prove she had chosen wisely all those years ago, and not on romantic impulse. To prove her confidence in Robert was as strong as ever._

 _Martha could see through the cracks. And it did nothing to ease the fast pace of her heart, or to erase the heat creeping across her face._

 _"As far as I know, the two of you never took separate holidays."_

 _But Cora was resolute. She didn't shift, she didn't adjust her focus. She remained as still as stone. That is, until her mother inquired with a dramatic hint of concern._

 _"Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise, is there?"_

 _"No," Cora's face shot up as she offered a brusque, "there is not." She blinked and then stood, pacing slowly towards the window. "Everything is fine," She insisted plainly, forcing the words out in a fluid breath._

 _"Cora..." She heard Martha's disbelief, and knew without turning to look her mother was cocking her head to one side, questioning her response even further._

 _Pinching her temples with thumb and forefinger, Cora muttered tersely, "I did not come here to discuss this with you, Mother."_

 _"Well you're here and I'm interested," Martha argued pointedly, "so you might as well at least give me the abridged version."_

 _Clenching her jaw, her hands balling into fists at her sides, Cora shot a look over her shoulder, "It's improper to discuss the state of one's marriage..."_

 _"...with other people." Martha finished the mantra for her. "But I'm not other people, Cora. I'm your mother."_

 _Cora scoffed at this, turning her face back towards the open window. She let out another breath, her fingers slowly uncurling at her sides._

 _"Look," Martha exhaled heavily, as though arguing had made her weary, "my dear, I simply care for you. I care to know you are happy and well. And if your husband's done something..."_

 _"He..." Her voice stumbled as the words caught in her throat, "...he hasn't done anything."_

 _"Oh," She sounded surprised, almost as though she caught the significance of Cora's pause. Beginning in a more tentative tone, she probed, "So it's you whose...?"_

 _"No," Cora's head snapped up and she looked outside. Her left hand unfurled from the fist, and she gently stroked the smooth curtains that hung in the window. "No, not exactly," She explained softly, her eyes floating outside to the pristinely manicured lawn._

 _She watched the water from the stone fountain bubbling up in the center of the drive, the sound of it trickling downward from the swan winged spout that occupied the tiny pool. A few birds chirped nearby, and a rustling among the soft petals of mother's prized tulips, signaled the arrival of warm breeze that carried with it a tinge of salt from the ocean._

 _Cora thought she heard another sound of disbelief come from behind, and she sighed a bit, the words begrudgingly filling the quiet between them._

 _"It was...complicated."_

 _And she hoped her mother would leave it at that._

 _"Complicated?" Martha balked at the word, and Cora held her breath. "You said there was nothing to share and yet, this nothing you adamantly speak of is complicated?"_

 _"It's fine now," She insisted plainly. "We're working through it," She turned, staring straight at her mother. As if facing her head on would make a difference. As if they could drop this subject in lieu of the one she had really come to discuss with her._

 _"Aha!" Martha's eyes lit up in recognition. Then she cleared her throat, dispelling any ounce of earlier glee and decided in a businesslike tone, "So...there was something."_

 _Realizing there was no way out of this without at least the abridged version, Cora abandoned her position at the window and glided back towards the armchair._

 _Hands gripping the edges of the armrests, she looked at her mother and recounted in clipped tones, "Not something. Someone."_

 _Martha's eyes widened and her mouth unceremoniously dropped in surprise._

 _And by witnessing her mother's slight shock, Cora insisted vehemently, her fingers clenching tightly to the floral upholstery, "But nothing happened...nothing that...nothing happened that I initiated in such a way or...nothing...it was nothing..."_

 _"Well it must have been something," Martha half exclaimed, her face reddening at such a notion._

 _Even at this stage in her life, Cora felt herself on the verge of bearing witness to the sting of disappointment her mother felt in her. She went on, her voice rising defensively in spite of her best efforts to keep it even, "It was nothing improper. At least, my intentions weren't improper."_

 _"But this man? His intentions were?" Martha rounded on her._

 _There was no point in disguising the truth now._

 _"Yes. Very much so." She lowered her gaze, feeling her cheeks burning from having to confess sins that were not quite her own. "And I feel quite foolish about the whole thing so if you wouldn't mind, can we not discuss it?"_

 _She was grateful for the pause that then transpired between them. She took solace in the babbling fountain outside the window, of the methodical ticking of the clock. She dared to think just how grateful that this part of their conversation was over, and then..._

 _"Did you mention the maid?"_

 _Her heart stopped at her mother's pointed question, and a rush of heat coursed through her veins. Cora's head snapped up and she gawked, thrown a bit off kilter, "What?"_

 _"The maid he was after all those years ago," Martha stated evenly, as though it wasn't at all a sore subject that Cora would rather forget about, let alone discuss. "Did you bring that whole thing up?"_

 _There was no other way out of this. As much as she wanted to shout indignantly at her mother, she knew it wouldn't do any good. So she dug her nails deeper into the fine fabric of her mother's armchair, and remarked through tightly pursed lips, "In a way, yes."_

 _"Perhaps not in a very effective way," Martha remarked offhandedly._

 _Cora let out a guttural sound with her next words, "You don't even know..."_

 _"Well," Martha interjected sharply, arching a questioning brow, "why else are you here and not mending fences with your husband?"_

 _"I already told you," She returned in exasperation. "Harold and I wished to discuss something with you and..."_

 _"You mean, Harold left you to discuss it with me while he trapezes off the coast with his latest 'sparkling diamond?''" Martha smirked, casting her suspicions back in Cora's direction._

 _Leaning back in the chair, Cora answered neutrally, "He assured me he would be back."_

 _And with this, Martha let out a high pitched laugh, "Oh Cora! Why, do you kid yourself?" She scoffed and shook her head, "After all these years, your brother hasn't shown he has a responsible bone in his body...I don't know why you bother with him."_

 _"For the same reason you do, Mother. He's all we have. We must make due."_

Letting out a steady breath, she sat back in her seat as the car slowed to a stop.

She almost forgot Robert was beside her, their fingers intertwined. But then he was leaning forward, and ordering the driver to step out and give them a moment to catch their bearings from the erratic drive from town.

Her gaze found his, and she felt grounded. His eyes were widened, questioning, and full of concern. His lips parted in the slightest bit, and she could tell from his unwavering focus that he was wrestling with whether or not to ask about her well being.

"I suppose we're here," She exhaled heavily, her heart hammering from the anticipation of it all.

"Yes," He replied slowly, looking to her with slightly narrowed eyes. "Shall we...shall we tell them we've arrived?" He wondered hesitantly, and she felt a tinge of guilt for being the cause of his uncertainty.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled, and then looked down between them. She wordlessly nodded, but didn't move. Neither did he. For a few seconds all that could be heard was her jagged breathing as she tried not to give into the frantic pacing of her heart.

"Cora?"

She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, her hand pulsing around his once more. It was the softness in his voice. His strong, reassuring presence that accompanied the gentleness in his tone. It had the power to disarm her. It had the power to coerce her feelings that she kept buried deep down to the surface.

Right now she wanted nothing more than to lean into him. Lean into his warm body, feel his arms, heavy around her, and weep in the front of his coat.

But she couldn't do that. Inhaling another restorative breath, she reigned in her feelings.

"Let us...let us tell them then," She managed, shifting away from him in her seat to push open the door.

The cold air took her breath away, and as she drew nearer to the front stoop, and she felt a chill run down her spine. The place that was once her home might have stood before her, but she felt as though she were miles away from it.


	4. Chapter 4

_**I know I said, "no more," when it came to fanfiction. But truthfully, I feel compelled to finish what I started. Otherwise, I really have no business calling myself a writer. So here we go. Enjoy the angst and (extremely) belated Christmas-ness. Hopefully I "still got it," in terms of being a half decent writer.**_

* * *

The house was darker than he remembered. The light behind the thick fringed lampshades barely illuminated the rooms that they were guided through by Mrs. Banks, the housekeeper. The closed curtains and covered mirrors darkened the deep crimson and gold filigree adorned wallpaper, casting shadows as the three of them passed through the foyer.

"I'm afraid Mr. Levinson is indisposed at present, and Miss. Simms (whom Robert took to be Cora's Aunt Clara as no one else was to be staying at the house with them), is out sorting through the finer details of the mourning luncheon," She casually explained over her shoulder as they ascended the marble stairs.

It _was_ highly irregular. Robert cast a quick sideways glance at his wife, noticing the muscles in her jaw rippling with annoyance at this realization.

They passed the second floor landing, the doors to the late Mr. Levinson's private library, and Mrs. Levinson's sitting room were closed tight. However, a sliver of light peeked through a crack of one of the vacant guest rooms situated on the right side of the stairwell landing, that curiously enough, didn't appear to be vacant any longer.

As they continued to the third floor, which was chiefly occupied by the family's bedrooms, Robert heard a slight clamor from the far left end of the corridor. It was followed by a tense exhalation of breath from beside him, but neither one of them had time to act, for Mrs. Banks was pushing open the door immediately across from the stairs.

"I hope it's to your liking Miss. Lev-erm-Lady Grantham," Mrs. Banks forced a smile, clearly unnerved by their presence, and the irregular circumstances in which she was required to receive them.

When Cora made no response, she added, "Mr. Levinson thought you would be comfortable in your old room. The adjacent guest room has been made up as well just in case-"

"Thank you, Mrs. Banks," Cora inclined her head, her mouth drawing together in a tight line. "We shall be most comfortable with the accommodations my brother has _so thoughtfully_ drawn up for us."

Robert felt himself inwardly cringe at the emphasis behind her words. He was sure Harold meant well, in spite of everything.

"You can have the servants leave our trunks in my old room," Cora went on stiffly. "Lord Grantham and I shall settle ourselves."

"Of course, Lady Grantham," Mrs. Banks smiled more genially, her dark brown eyes glimmering warmly. "If it pleases you, Mr. Levinson will have afternoon tea with the pair of you."

"Very well," Cora sighed heavily, disappearing into the dimly lit bedroom, and brusquely dismissing the old housekeeper.

"Thank you, Mrs. Banks," Robert added with an encouraging smile to the older woman, and she inclined her head in silent thanks for his acknowledgement.

"Please ring if you or Lady Grantham should need anything in the meantime."

Robert stepped inside the rather spacious room, passing by the servants who left the trunks near the foot of the bed that resided in the center of the room. It appeared to be large enough for the both of them, but smaller than the room they shared at Downton. Arranged around the perimeter of the room in similar fashion to their dressing room back home were several dressers at varying heights, a vanity, and a fireplace with an armchair and stool situated in front of it.

From what Robert could see among the dimly lit lamps, the wallpaper was a pale cream color, with delicate pale pink and sky blue ribbons painted across it. Cora, dressed in a stiff black skirt with a matching chiffon blouse loosely tucked in at the waist, was already taking the liberty of unpacking the drunks, and hanging clothes in the wardrobe situated in the far right corner.

He watched her for a few seconds before reaching inside the trunks and passing items to her. She paused, a slight smile curving at her lips before she took the clothes and stowed them away.

"Who would have thought we would have lived to practice such self-sufficiency?" Robert couldn't help but muse.

She echoed his sentiment with a slight snort and a nod, though her eyes remained lowered behind thick lashes. Turning to hang one of his suits, she remarked dryly, "Well I'm glad you see it that way."

He picked up the mild contempt that rang through her words, and rather than allow her displeasure to fester in silence, he decided to address it head on.

"Darling?" He questioned, his hand brushing over her wrist while they exchanged a pair of shoes.

She sensed his meaning and bowed her head, slowly retreating back to the wardrobe. Shaking her head, she grumbled, "It's just like Harold not to be bothered to receive us _properly_."

He blinked hard a few times and exhaled, choosing his next words carefully, "I'm sure he's doing the best he can."

"Yes, with a bottle of gin, no doubt," She agreed sardonically, her lips twitching at the corners.

Cora moved past him, to the other unopened trunk, but he reached out a hand, grasping her forearm.

"Robert," She began, her arm tightening beneath his grip, eyes squeezing shut.

"Cora please," He insisted gently with an undercurrent of firmness evident in his voice. "Why not lie down and let me finish?"

Her eyes flashed open at this suggestion, mouth dropping in protest.

But he was already silencing her with a slight jest of, "You'll need to save your strength if you wish to battle it out with Harold later."

She managed a meager peal of amusement, and then, her face was contorting with something that either resembled guilt or immense pain. Or perhaps, it was a combination of the two. Still, her clouded eyes bore into him, and he felt his heart tug in response.

"I-" She croaked out, tilting her head from side to side, her eyes flickering listlessly about, "Robert...it's...it's so very hard. Being here."

He lowered his gaze, running his hand up her forearm gently. "Yes, I-I imagined it might be," He replied softly, feeling entirely helpless in his ability to comfort her. "So let me make it easier for you," He murmured again, his insistence so gentle it softened her heart in ways that made her feel weak.

In ways that made her need him so fervently and desperately. In ways that awakened her to the hard manner in which she had treated him on their voyage. And she swallowed back the lump forming in her throat as these thoughts came rushing back to her.

"I thank you," Her lashes fluttered several times and she glanced downward. "I know I haven't made it easy for you to..." She trailed off, unable to fully express herself so readily.

Cora's pale eyes flickered up to his waiting gaze once more, and she remarked with her mouth turned down in anguish, her eyes searching his for some unspoken pardon for the way she had treated him, "...and for that I'm sorry."

"You needn't..." Robert responded with a heavy heart, "...you needn't apologize to me." He took hold of her shoulders, running his hands reassuringly across them and down her arms. "Not for this. Not for _any_ of this," He murmured, drawing her close to brush a chaste kiss at her forehead. Releasing her, he stepped back and smiled as warmly as he could grant himself to, "Rest now. I'll wake you when it's time."

* * *

A few hours later, they made their way downstairs to meet with Harold in the sitting room. The room was brightly lit, considering the faint sunlight that peered into the tall windows was concealed behind snow filled clouds. Robert supposed it was because the curtains were thrown open, unlike the rest of the house that appeared to be intentionally shrouded in darkness.

Even so, he welcomed the change in lighting. It made things feel lighter somehow. And Robert hoped perhaps it would be a small thing that would improve his wife's downcast spirits.

However, when Harold made his entrance, it soon became clear that no amount of brightness would alter Cora's mood. He was in rumpled clothes (sans day jacket), which suggested that he had spent half the day sleeping in that attire. And then there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. And his usually kept hair that lined the edges of his head was stuck out in a few places.

She inhaled a terse breath, her icy eyes surveying her brother's disheveled appearance from where she stood. It was anything but a warm greeting whenever she exhaled in a strained tone, "Good to finally see you Harold."

"Hey sissy!" He cracked a crooked smile, and moved swiftly towards her for an embrace, almost like he only just noticed her standing in the center of the room.

Robert noticed her cringe as Harold pulled her closer and they stumbled backwards a few steps. He reached out a steadying hand, but quickly found the gesture to be superfluous as Harold's eyes found his and his brother-in-law immediately strode forward to clap one hand around his shoulder, the other bringing him into another hearty embrace.

"And Robert's here!" He seemed surprise by this realization, which in turn sent Robert a bit off kilter.

He felt the breath suck out of his lungs, and the musky scent of cologne mingled with piney notes of gin filled his nostrils.

From over Harold's shoulder Robert saw Cora frown and slanted gaze of disapproval, and he could instantly sense her displeasure by just how inebriated her brother still appeared to be. He tried to offer a reassuring smile, aiming to play the mediator just like he always did for them.

"I'm so glad you both came!" He finally released Robert, turning around to face Cora, "It's been dreadful! Just dreadful! Without the pair of you...you know?"

He slowly moved towards the end table, and pulled out a half emptied bottle of gin from one of the end table drawer's before calling to Mrs. Banks that they wouldn't be needing the fine china cups with dainty violets painted across them, but rather three stout glasses and a bowl of ice.

"Shouldn't you take it easy, Harold?" Cora remarked rather acerbically, her eyes narrowing at the bottle her brother managed to get his hands on.

"Oh come on sis, I played my part of the dutiful son," He countered with a sheepish grin, "I saw that the arrangements were taken care of."

Robert noticed Cora's hand curl into fists, her fingernails undoubtedly digging into the flesh of her palms. She spoke very slowly, her choice of words deliberate, giving off an air of condescension, "Planning is only part of it, Harold. The execution of the thing is just as important."

He rolled his eyes and exhaled a heavy breath at what he seemed to hear as a lecture. Nodding a brief thanks towards Mrs. Banks, who had swiftly returned with the items he requested, Harold then explained in the same tone that Cora has used seconds ago, "And Aunt Clara, Laurel, and I _have been_ executing things. We've seen to the mourner's, we've planned the service and the mourning luncheon. It's all been taken care of. Just like you wanted." He cast a purposeful glance over his shoulder at her, liberally pouring gin into the glasses Mrs. Banks procured for them.

Robert sat in the short armchair, silently wondering if deliberate condescension was a genetic trait of all Levinson's. He didn't have long to wonder, however, as Harold was handing him over a perspiring glass. He took an obligatory sip to fill the tense quiet that descended upon them, and felt the burn race down his throat and hit the pit of his stomach.

"Gracious Harold," He sputtered as a tickle coursed through his lungs, a side effect of Harold's uniquely strong brew.

Harold grinned at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "Not quite used to the stuff we make here, are you Robert?"

He found himself laughing a bit at this, in spite of the situation, and in spite of how his wife felt. It felt wrong to take a moment to find something amusing. But he couldn't help himself.

And then Cora was interceding, and Robert felt himself peeling away from Harold's good-natured hold on him.

"Where is she?"

She was staring at Harold expectantly, who took a quick swig of his drink before returning her question with one of his own, "Aunt Clara? Or...?"

"Mother," She managed, fusing her lips together in a tight line at having to explain it to him.

"Oh..." He blinked a few times, processing her response before answering casually, "...in the music room."

She stood and was about to deposit her drink on the nearest flat surface, but Harold stretched out an arm, his hand pressing into her shoulder, preventing her from making a proper exit. Angling his face towards her, he suggested in the friendliest manner he could muster, "But Cora, really. Have a drink first. It will help."

He could see the protest was already forming, and he only wished that she might find some respite. So his hand grasped one of hers that hung listless by her side, and she instinctively turned upon feeling the contact. The bewildered expression he found waiting for him, nearly took his breath away, but he managed to maintain some of his composure to say, "Perhaps Harold is right about this, darling."

There was a ripple across her jaw as the muscles clenched defiantly. And he thought for a split second that she would rebuke him, prompting his heart to pick up its pace. His thumb anxiously ran over the back of her hand again, a gesture of quiet reassurance that she seemed to understand even when nothing else made sense.

Her hand squeezed against his, and the briefest flicker of a smile touched her mouth as she nodded and took a sip from the glass of gin that remained in her hand. She sank slowly onto the stiff armchair that sat behind her, and he helped ease her down.

And Robert felt some small pleasure that he had provided her with some small comfort among the vast depths of her grief.

But like all things that involved the Levinson's, there wasn't much time left for mulling things over. Their world spun continuously, someone or something new, seemed to always be invading the quiet, whether it was wanted or not.

This particular interruption burst forth in the arrival of a smooth, tenor voice that belonged to an older woman that Robert had never seen before in all her life.

"I do hope I am not interrupting a family reunion," Came the assured drawl of a properly bred English lady with snowy white hair pulled back in a simple, high bun.

"Don't be ridiculous Cousin Laurel!" Harold intoned jovially, crossing the room to embrace her without a moment's hesitation. "You're just as much a part of this family as any of us!"

"Oh, Harold," She practically blushed at the sentiment, swatting his shoulder with a hand, "you were always such a sweet boy. But is that our Cora, I hear?" She glanced around uncertainly, and just as soon as she had sunk down in the chair, Cora rose again.

Turning in a single motion, Robert saw a broad smile crease her mouth, her eyes alighting with familiarity mingled with a sort of excitement he had yet to behold in all their time here.

"Yes Cousin Laurel, I'm afraid it is," She responded, shrugging in a humble gesture. And then she closed the space between them, murmuring softly, "How good it is to see you! Unfortunate it must be under these circumstances but..."

"Yes," She inclined her head, arms enveloping Cora into what appeared to be a tight embrace. After several seconds, she pulled away, hands wrapped around Cora's shoulders, the old woman's smile deepening until creases lined her face. Patting Cora encouragingly, she nodded and decided, "But it _is_ good to lay eyes on you, my dear."

"And you as well," Cora returned the smile. Robert watched Cora's teeth rake over her bottom lip, and he knew she was trying to work out what she should say next. When nothing seemed to come to mind, she let out a sound that reminded him of a slight giggle, and then she seemed to remember he was hovering just behind her right shoulder. With this realization, she gestured between him and her _Cousin_ Laurel, "I don't believe you've had the pleasure of meeting my husband."

"No," Laurel tilted her head to one side, the broad smile tightening a bit, her emerald green eyes gleaming knowingly, "I don't believe we have been properly introduced. But if you'll allow me to say, I have heard a great deal about you, Lord Grantham." She offered both her hands in a sign of reassurance that no amount of foreignness between them would make her feel any less welcoming towards him.

Bowing his head politely, he took her hands in his, so as not to appear rude. However, he found it quite puzzling that Cora and Harold would have a cousin who could be so, well, elderly. "Forgive me, I am not familiar with..."

He was standing back to full height whenever Cora explained quickly, "Robert this is Cousin Laurel. She's a _dear friend_ of Aunt Clara's."

"Just a friend?" He was confused by the title of cousin that was given to her.

"Or companion, if you like," Laurel suggested with an air lacking any self-consciousness.

"Cousin Laurel has been a part of our family for...well for far longer than Cora and I have been," Harold breezily explained with a loose grin.

"And how curious is it that we haven't been formally acquainted until now," Robert noted, his brow pinching together as his brain tried to conjure up a reason for it.

A wry half smirk twitched at Laurel's thinly shaped mouth outlined in a pale pink color, "Not _that_ curious."

There was something about the way she said the words that made him feel as though he were being secretly mocked. Like he was an outsider among the three of them. And when Cora swiftly called for more gin, the many questions that arouse in his mind only became more contradictory. He suppose he would work it out eventually. But for now, he would comply with his wife's request, and he polished off his glass of gin.

* * *

 _ **This totally probably sucks. But I'm trying to get back into the habit of updating things. Maybe there's something good to be found here. Let me know either way, if you think it matters.  
**_


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